Finally, Elga left the others and returned to her forest, loading three fresh and healthy mules with the bundles of her hard-wrought bounty. Now that she was done, she gave little more thought to the New World, she had what she needed. Over the years she would hear tales of European exiles fleeing persecution, vanishing beyond the sea’s horizon to build their newborn cities of God. Eventually, some returned to the Old World brandishing wordy manifestos proclaiming their right to liberty, along with the finespun white cotton and cane sugar to trade, all handpicked by their land’s ebony slaves. To her, this New World seemed like a rough stew of notions that even now, centuries later, seemed unmixed and unblended, too many of the ingredients far too strong in their righteousness and certainty while also much too bitter with contradiction. Elga doubted if she would ever like the taste.
Sitting in the car with the American, she felt it was maybe time for someone to go find another New World, for having built their great cities all the way out to the Pacific, these Americans now seemed to stay busy by constantly running about, bumping into one another like a passel of fattened hogs who had long outgrown their shit-laden sty.
The car pulled up in front of a building that had two men standing out in front. As the car stopped, one of the men knocked on the building’s front door and a little bald man with round glasses came out. To Elga, the bald man did not look quite human, he looked more like a white shrewmouse.
As the little man came over to the car, Brandon rolled down the window. “What happened?”
The little man did not answer at first, but looked over at her instead. “Well hello, Elga Sossoka.” She stayed silent. He nodded. “It is an honor to finally meet you. You must have great good fortune to have lived for so long and come so far across so many lands. Perhaps we can borrow some of your luck to change our own poor fortunes. That would be a welcome turn of events.” Then he returned his attention to Brandon. “You see, we had a serious setback. I’m afraid your friend Jake has died. I don’t know precisely how it happened. It was a simple clinical exercise, purely academic. I for one certainly did not foresee any obstacles. This Will fellow did not appear to have that much fight left in him.”
“I’m confused. Jake’s dead? How?” Brandon asked.
“As I said,” the little man replied, his tone a bit impatient now, “I do not know. You see, I was interrupted in my work by a group of enormous Negroes who burst into the laboratory firing tommy guns. Zoya Polyakov was with them. They killed Jarl and Malte and then took this Will away. So, your friend Jake’s death is only one part of our problem.” He began explaining what had happened, and although Elga tried to keep up, the many details made it difficult to follow. The one word that did catch Elga’s ear, sticking like a hungry tick to her ear, was the name “Zoya.” The girl had been here, only hours ago. Hearing the name, Elga’s blood flared and her brain hummed with violence. She sat forward and tried to listen more carefully. Finally, frustrated with all the words, she interrupted: “You are looking for Zoya?”
The little man stopped talking and turned his gaze to Elga. “Why, yes, we might be, do you happen to know where she is?”
Elga nodded. “Maybe. I don’t know. There are a few places to try. I was hunting for her too. We can hunt for her together now.”
The little man looked slightly baffled for a moment but then looked at Brandon and smiled. “Yes, Elga, by all means, let us hunt for Zoya together.”
X
Witches’ Song Ten
XI
